What was it, to be, untethered
From the, farm of faith, to the fief, of fear
My lone recall, is the psalm, I heard
A mother’s poise spilling, thru a, woman’s veneer!
It wasn’t, one of, her soul’s solos
Nor a, lovelorn heart’s, forlorn lullaby
But the, sharpest thorn, of rose, nightingale chose
To bleed, out sigh, of a, riveted rabbi!
In a, widow’s hearth, of fog, and clay
Flickered furies, of, two creeds
A woman mired, in a, mother’s melee
Like a litany, lost in, love’s rosary’s beads!
I grew, to a man, to leave, her alone
No more, a tide, in her, stormy sea
On her tombstone, left bare, to the bone
My Mother’s, Lasting Soliloquy!
© 2020 Vikas Chandra
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